Off
by Joey51
Summary: He just doesn’t know that something’s not right. He just can’t tell when someone is off. Ryan's perspective. Standalone.


This is my first shot at OC fiction. I hope I did the characters justice. Please review and let me know what you think.

Thank-you.

Joey

Lyrics from "Other Light," by Finger Eleven

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**-Off-**

_Never tell your friends  
They'll never understand  
Confessions only burn themselves in the fire  
Choke on every word  
That no one's ever heard  
Your sentimental thoughts are strangled and tired_

He doesn't understand. And why should he? He has never had cause to question someone in his acquaintance beyond a reasonable doubt. He's been growing up in such a secluded little mini-universe, where sheltered takes on a new meaning, and a new face, rather than a familiar one, is what catches his eye. There have been no encounters with people like Oliver, people who are conjuring motives that would make a sane person's mind spin in their reveal. He just doesn't know that something's not right. He just can't tell when someone is "off."

I assume it's an acquired skill, one that I have obtained and perfected over the years as a sort of evolution while I adapted to my environment. A sixth sense, some would say. I don't know what it is, and I can't really tell whether or not I am grateful for its presence or just frustrated that I do know better than the majority of the population¾but nonetheless, it's there and I can't ignore it.

I could always tell when people were "off." When my mother would bring that scum into our house¾her house - I could see it, smell it, taste it, and the whole idea of it overwhelmed my every sense to the point where I needed to run - escapefrom everything that was wrong with the life I had been born into. I wish it was that simple. Despite all my better sense, I could never leave her because I knew that no matter how sickening the sensation induced by those she would introduce into our lives, if I left, she would turn into one of them.

Maybe I was deluding myself into believing that she hadn't succumb to the evil that was the company she surrounded herself with, but I didn't want to give up. I had so little to cling to, and believing that my mother was a good person made my life worth extending.

I remember the day I realized that my brother was "off." He was never predictable, and as much as I tried to believe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, unpredictability is one of the most obvious symptoms of the disease. He would turn on me¾leave me places to fend for myself and took no measures to ensure that I would make it out alive. I couldn't stop though. I couldn't stop doing the things for him that he would never even consider doing for me. I hated it, but that's who I am. And as much as I know that my efforts to preserve him - to keep him from becoming one of them - failed, I have no regrets. I couldn't be like him; I can't give up that easily. The day he stuffed a dime bag in my pocket while walking to "meet" his friends, I knew he didn't care like I did. I still have the scar on my stomach from the battle that ensued. At that point, I could smell it on him, taste it and more importantly, see it. He had turned "off."

It got to the point where my ability to detect the disorder was so distinct, I could see it everywhere. My father, Trey, AJ and all the other pieces of trash my mother would embrace and welcome into our home; they were all "off," and it made me sick because I knew it was only a matter of time before it infected my mom, and then, inevitably, me. I promised myself that if it ever happened - if I was to become as contaminated as the rest of them – I wouldn't allow my life to continue. I've seen what they do to themselves and others and I just couldn't let it happen to me. I just can't be like them.

I knew he had the disorder the second I saw him. It oozed from him like a sticky substance that I had tried to avoid my whole life. It was so blatant, so obvious behind his fake smiles and empty eyes. He had ulterior motives. He didn't care about the well-being of others. He was "off." No one else flinched, no one else could see the danger he presented; they couldn't hear the warning sirens that accompanied his presence. That is, no one but me.

I thought that maybe I could ignore it; maybe I could understand that this guy wasn't the last "off" person I was going to come across, but it was so overwhelming, so engulfing that I couldn't speak or react through the rage that surged through my veins when he was around.

He didn't just show up, he attacked the one thing that was important to me - one of my few personal connections that I would risk my life for. He went for her; he saw her as his prey. And no one would listen.

_As simple as they can  
They're telling you again  
What they think you've done is so unbecoming  
But you don't have to take  
Every old mistake  
And always see it as a fall while you're running_

I know I scared them; it was seemingly uncharacteristic of me to act so _irrationally_, but the one time I really needed someone to listen - I mean really _listen_ to me - they all turned away. They just couldn't see it. They could hear me screaming at the top of my lungs, they just didn't bother to listen. To them, I was the crazy one. I was the one who was losing his mind. I was the lunatic. I was "off." I could see it in their eyes, the fear of their actions coming back to haunt them. The "what have we gotten ourselves into" look. If I wasn't used to such discrimination, I would have died right there on the spot. It killed me that I had to do what I did, and I knew that I wasn't the only one feeling the consequences of my actions, but I couldn't just sit and watch it happen. I couldn't be a spectator and watch the inevitable unfold before my eyes.

Last night was something that will keep me from sleeping for a very long time. I'll never forget the overwhelming pain that enveloped me when I saw him hold that gun to her head. I'll never be able to expel the vision of her face – the sheer shock and fear in her eyes. It was as if every second dragged out for a torturous eternity, his finger pressing lightly on the trigger, an ounce of pressure away from taking her from mylife forever.

_See it in another light  
You'll see it working out alright  
I know I won't change any mind  
As long as they're still changing mine_

I saw the sudden turn of expression, the craziness fleeting only to be replaced by a look of helplessness. He recognized his state; he knew it had happened. He knew he was "off." I guess I would have done the same thing in his place; I wouldn't have been able to live with myself either. He eliminated himself, the disease now one step closer to extinction.

I still don't think they know what happened exactly. They wonder how I knew, but they don't ask; I can just see it in their eyes. When I walk through the kitchen to get a drink or when they come out to say goodnight, I see them look at me with a slight tilt of the head, their curiosity consuming their thoughts for a few seconds before they dispel the ridiculous idea and write it off to coincidence and good timing. They'll just never understand - not even Sandy, who claims we are different generations of the same person - that I can sense it. I just know.

"Hey."

I hear the door click, dragging my mind back into the present. I nod at Seth, who cautiously makes his way over to the corner of my bed and sits down, obviously unsure of himself and where his mouth is going to take him.

"Look, I was just wondering…. I mean, Marissa called and she wanted to talk to you and she said you weren't answering your phone.…" I watch his eyes follow the cord that connects the phone to the wall, only to see that it's been unplugged.

"I didn't want to talk to anyone," I mumble, turning my gaze back to the even, soothing surface of the ceiling.

"Oh," Seth states even more nervously. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his hands wrenching at a piece of the fine linens that cloak the bed I sleep in. He sighs after a couple awkward seconds, a true sign that he's no longer going to avoid certain topics, and is just going to give in to the questions that are swirling in his head, "Look, she just wanted to know…_we_ wanted to know if you wanted to go to the funeral." He pauses for a second and his eyes glance around the room as if he's trying to capture his escaping thoughts. "It's your call, man. You don't have to decide now. We were just curious."

I shut my eyes to avoid his prying glare that has now settled on me. After a few pensive moments, I shrug my shoulders casually. "I don't know."

"Okay," he jumps in, not allowing time for any justification that I might blurt out to support my indecision. "We just wanted to throw the idea out there, you know. You don't have to decide now or anything."

Again, the silence. It's not something that bothers me so much, but I know it tears Seth apart inside, and silences are often short-lived when he's around.

"You coming in for dinner? Rosa cooked, so there's no worry of contracting some form of incurable, food-transmitted disease."

"I'm not really hungry," I reply, opening my eyes and tilting my head forward slightly, trying to give Seth a reassuring look.

"Of course…. Right. Of course your not…. Sorry, I…."

I can't help but smile slightly as Seth uncharacteristically stumbles on his words.

He must notice my amusement because relief floods his features as he stands and starts to make his way to the pool house door. When he's half a step outside, he stops and retreats, slowly pulling the door shut behind him and turning back to face me.

"Ryan." He pauses for a few seconds to formulate his thoughts, a pensive and concerned look crossing his face. "How d'you know? How d'you know about Oliver?"

I jolt slightly, a bit thrown by his line of questioning but almost relieved that someone has finally asked. How do I explain that I have developed the ability to see through people? To see them for their true intentions? To see who they really are?

I raise my eyebrows as I try to create a response that Seth will comprehend.

"Say you want a sandwich," I start. I can already see his head tilt in confusion, but I continue, trying to make my point. "And you open the fridge to get some cheese to put on your sandwich. You open the drawer and find the cheese is moldy." I can see his lips curling into a small smile as he wonders whether or not I am completely messing with him. I shift my eyes away and force myself to finish my thought. "You don't put moldy cheese on your sandwich, right?"

He carefully shakes his head from side to side, a larger grin now spreading across his face. "Well, Mom might. But I don't think she can identify between fresh and moldy foods…." Seth stops, and holds his hand up apologetically. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"That's just it. You wouldn't eat it because you just know that it's not good. You know it's 'off.'"

Seth looks even more confused as he tries to pull some sort of meaning out of my metaphorical drabble.

"So, you're saying that Oliver was moldy cheese?"

"I'm just saying that you can see that the cheese is no good, right? But your mom, she may not notice. I guess that's how it was with Oliver. I just knew, Seth. I could see it."

I instinctively stop, not wanting to give too much away and freak out this family any more than I already have. I take a shaky breath and shut my eyes again, avoiding the glare coming from Seth's direction.

"Okay."

I'm a little surprised at the answer. I open my eyes, not letting them wander from the comfort of the white ceiling.

"Is it okay?" I nearly whisper, trying not to let the horrible events of the previous night take over my emotions.

"Well, I don't know if it's okay right now, but it will be." He opens the door again, this time eager to leave me alone after sensing my obvious discomfort at showing my emotions.

Just before he's out the door completely, he leans his head back in. "If you want something to eat later on, or you can't sleep or something, I'll be up. You know, we could play some videogames…or eat some cheese. Whatever you want." He gently clicks the door closed and leaves me alone with my whirling thoughts.

_Saw it in other light  
I saw it work out alright  
I know I won't change your mind  
As long as they're changing mine_

Maybe I'll go in later, just to assure him - and the rest of the Cohens - that I'm all right. Maybe we'll play some videogames. I don't think I'm going to eat cheese, though. I've never really liked the stuff anyway.


End file.
